


The art room

by teddyisok



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Found Family, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Mental Health Issues, am i a writer yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:48:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29442132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teddyisok/pseuds/teddyisok
Summary: Small town. Art school in ruins. Fairies in the fields. Walks on the beach. Three art students go through the highs and lows of college art classes. Just kidding lolThe art room welcomes everyone. Even you. There's sun streaming through the windows and piles of books on stools. Anyone can find the things they need in that room.Quentin loves to paint.Thomas is made for the stage.Cristiana doesn't know anything except music.What will they find in that room.





	The art room

Thomas stretched out on the empty train bench and placed the book he was reading open over his face. He stared at the blurry close-up lines of _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_. The sun was going down on the tall wheat fields, making them glow golden. His luggage under his seat swayed with the train. Thomas drifted off to sleep. His hand dropped like dead weight over the end of the bench. The book started inching slowly off his face and he pushed it back onto his face sleepily.

His phone buzzed, making him jump up and the book smacked onto the ground, and he picked it up, looking at a newly folded page. Thomas took out his phone and rubbed his eyes with his hands. The screen lit up.

**Mom**  
_Tell me when you get to your father’s house._

He put his phone back in his jacket pocket. Thomas started to unfold the messed up page. He should be more careful, since it’s a library book. It wasn’t be the first time he might need to pay for a library book. His phone buzzed again.

**Mom**  
_Have a good day at school tomorrow, sweetie :)_

He placed the phone on the seat and sighed. He cast a shadow in front of him as the sunlight fell onto his back. Reaching up, he watched the shadow as he moved his hand around. It twisted and turned with him, and he ignored the idea to start making shadow figures. He was alone on the train. Thomas broke out of his daydream and pushed the book into the backpack that he pulled from under the seat. A clear line creased the page of the play.

The train slowed down, grinding on the rails and stops. Thomas is already at the sliding doors, backpack on one shoulder and duffelbag in his left hand. His phone was now in his back pocket. He stepped out onto the lonely concrete platform, staring into the red sun of a Sunday evening. Wild flowers grew through the cracks in the road towards the small station’s parking lot. There wasn't even a ticket booth, just a few benches and a solemn rusty trashcan. Thomas walked over to the only car waiting and knocked on the shaded window. It rolled down.

“Hey Tommy, get in.” His dad said over loud rock music streaming out of the radio and unlocked the doors with a half smile. Thomas pushed some bags and trash out of the back seat and threw in his backpack and duffelbag.

“How was the trip, kiddo? ‘You excited for school?” his dad asked as he turned the radio down.

“It was okay.” Thomas rummaged in his bag to get the book out again. He had only been able to read a few pages on the train before giving up. “Yeah, I guess I am.” He paged through the book, looked annoyed and closed it. Thomas threw his head back.

“I’ll drive you tomorrow if you want.”  
“No, thanks, dad.” Thomas said quickly. The sun had disappeared in the short period he was in the car. The headlights were now on. He looked out at the silhouette of the tall trees, everything cold and dark. His eyes felt heavy. His father had turned up the music again, to get rid of the awkward silence. No one else was on the road. There were bumps in the road as they went further into the countryside.

“Fuck!” screamed his dad as he hit the breaks.  
Thomas is thrown forward and hits his nose roughly on the head-rest in front of him. Sitting back again, he brings his sleeve up to stop the blood that started to flow.

“What happened? What the f-.” he said through the blood.

“I don’t know, some kid, something that looked like a kid. Shit, shit, you're bleeding, goddammit.” his father had turned and was trying to reach for Thomas to see the damage.

After they had both calmed down and Thomas had stopped the bleeding, his dad started explaining the sudden stop.

“I just saw some figure run in front and I had to stop to not hit’em. Looked like a kid. I think he was barefoot. What the fuck is a kid doing running onto the road at this fucking hour.” His father grumbled. They were back to driving, Thomas pinching his nose.

“Are you sure it wasn't just a deer?” He asked absentmindedly.

“No, I’m pretty sure I saw a kid, Tommy. Fucking A, what are these kids doing?” He pulled into the driveway of a small two-story home. “Alright, we’re home.”

Thomas gets out of the car and carefully walks up to the door, following his father. The motion activated porch light flickers on as the both approach the house. The door opens on a familiar hallway, beige walls and dark floorboards. But Thomas walks through it like it’s the first time. He takes off his jacket and hangs it on one of the hooks on the door, his father walking further into the home.

“Make yourself at home, kiddo.” Called his dad from the living room. Thomas just stands, bags in his hand, looking at the few picture frames on the wall. There were only paintings, landscapes of winter wonderlands, beaches and small towns. The brush strokes were visible, all originals. He heard the TV flicker on.

“Go put your stuff in your room and I’ll get dinner on the table.” his dad said as the man peered into the hallway. In the new lighting, Thomas saw that he had more grey hairs then before and his wrinkles were more pronounced now. But he had the same grey eyes. And the ginger hair that he had inherited was still pushed back, probably with the same strange smelling hair gel from when Thomas was just a little kid. He walked towards the stairs at the end of the hall that winded up towards the second floor. He went into his room, navy blue walls,a big bed pushed tightly into a corner and a desk and chair, nothing else, and dropped his bags.

A few books were stacked on the desk. All plays except for the lone math exercise manual. Thomas fell onto the bed face first and groaned as his nose ached. Pushing his sneakers off with his feet, he snuggled into the chemical smelling sheets. This had been his room from age 2 to 10. He had grown to fit it, especially the queen sized bed that had always been too big. His parents had tried to fix it by filling it with more pillows and stuffed animals. The bed was empty of those things, only his fully grown adult body now filling it.  
“Dinner’s ready!” came the muffled yell from downstairs.


End file.
